Invictus
by hyugahime
Summary: One day, upon visiting England for an important matter, Russia meets and befriends a child with golden hair and pretty eyes. When it comes time to leave, however, he finds himself reluctant to part with his new friend...title changed, human names used.
1. The First Meeting

Disclaimer: Don't own nothin.'

_Chapter 1: Pretty, Pretty_

**Late 1600's**

Ivan was nervous.

The feeling was foreign to him; he was used to making _others _uncomfortable, not the other way around. And yet…

Pursing his lips, he fixed violet eyes on the fine wood of the door in front of him, his hand raised to knock but not quite ready to take that step. A breeze weaved its way through pale locks of hair, soothing the almost overwhelming heat that beat down from the sun overhead.

Adjusting his scarf, Russia sighed. He couldn't stand on the porch forever.

He moved to knock, when a sudden movement caught his eye. Turning, he locked eyes with a round, cherub face peeking out from the window to his right. They stared at each other for a moment. Russia blinked.

_A child…?_

The face vanished as quickly as it had appeared, only the faint rustling of the window curtain any sign it had been there at all. Intrigued, Russia moved to inspect the window when the soft 'click' of a door being opened reached his ears.

"You."

Ivan smoothed his face into a smile, turning from the window and nodding his head in greetings to the shorter man before him.

Arthur Kirkland (or England, if you're one for specifics) scowled at the sight of his guest. His blonde hair was immaculately combed onto his skull, and his garments were of a fine quality that spoke of his wealth. His chin was tilted ever so slightly upwards, as though he were attempting to look down his nose at the much taller nation.

"Me." Ivan said in response, the smile never leaving his face. He kept his eyes firmly locked on England's own in an attempt to ignore his over-sized eyebrows. He'd been told it was wise to avoid even glancing at them – the island nation tended to get irritated as a result. There was a long moment of silence between the two, England steadily growing uncomfortable and Russia waiting for permission to enter.

Finally, England sighed.

"Yes, well, I suppose you had better come in. We haven't got all day."

_Quite the contrary_, Russia thought to himself as he stepped into the blessedly cool air of the mansion. He'd been given strict orders not to leave until he and the other man settled things. Holding back another sigh he looked around, unsurprised at the cleanliness of the place. Not a book, parchment, or otherwise out of place.

"What a charming little place you have in your possession, England." Russia commented politely, his eyes roaming in search of the mysterious child.

"Yes, it is pleasing to the eye, isn't it? Then again, so is the rest of America. Temperature takes some time getting used to, though…Follow me."

England shut the door and moved past him, his strides brisk and hurried. Russia followed, his eyes discreetly searching the rooms for the child he'd seen earlier. He wondered who it was. Glancing at the rigid back of the British Empire, Russia found it hard to picture England in the company of any sort of child, at least willingly. Perhaps it belonged to one of the servants?

No, no. The shorter man didn't strike him as one to tolerate such things. It was likely he would have made the woman leave it at home, regardless of excuses. Russia frowned. Who, then?

"Here we are."

Russia was pulled from his thoughts when England opened a door that appeared to be a small study, with little more than shelves of dusty books and a large oak desk. A tray of tea lay on its surface.

The island nation walked and sat primly in the large plush chair behind the desk, crossing his legs in a decidedly feminine manner while gesturing for Ivan to do the same.

"Tea?" England asked.

"Yes, thank you."

The liquid was cool when it slid down his throat. Russia sighed contentedly. It really was hot, and the tea was a welcome remedy for the near suffocating heat. He was entertaining the thought of asking the other man about the mysterious child when the empire spoke again. "I'm pleased to see you like it," England said, his expression almost wistful, "Sometimes I think it's the only thing I ever make right."

Russia wisely chose not to respond. England's cooking was infamous throughout all of Europe. Even he -who rarely bothered interacting with the other nations – had heard of its unfailing ability to cause sickness in the people unfortunate enough to eat it. He had never had it himself, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Russia glanced around the room in an attempt to ward off the rising awkwardness between them. His eye caught a nicely done painting right above England's head; he studied the smooth, soft colors without really seeing them.

"_Ivan, listen to me. It is imperative you help mend relations with the British Empire. More importantly, their representative. If we are to win this war with the Turks, we'll need…assistance. Am I clear? __**Do not**__**return**__ until you've a promise of alliance in your hand…" _

Russia had had many leaders over the years, some bad, some good, and some downright insane, but he was still not quite sure what to make of the man who had most recently called himself his king. One thing he'd noticed upon first being introduced to him was that he was tall. Really, really tall. Tall enough that Russia, for the first time in his life, had to tilt his head ever so slightly upwards just to meet his eyes.

Though he said little and smiled less, in the past few decades under his reign, Ivan had gone through some major changes. The countries, though still somewhat unnerved by his size and demeanor, were starting to see him as something other than a backwater nation. His eyes found England's. He was rising, slowly but surely; perhaps one day he'd be even greater than the empire in front of him.

The thought made him smile.

But now was not the time for fantasies. He had come to this strange land for an important purpose – England's help. And Peter the Great was not one to be disobeyed.

Shifting in his seat, Russia ignored England's uneasy expression and began to speak.

"England. I have come here today so that we might work out an agreement best suited to both our interests."

He picked up the leather suitcase he'd brought with him and laid it gently on the table, taking special care as he pulled numerous rolls of bound parchment from within. The island nation took them from him warily, as if he expected to be bitten. There was a long moment of silence as England unrolled the parchments and studied the contents, his eyes growing darker when he reached the last of them. Finally, he let loose a weary breath.

Leaning back in his chair, he gazed at Russia. "So," he said slowly, "You want my…assistance in your war with the Ottomans, yes?"

Russia nodded. "Da. It would be most appreciated. They are very…formidable."

England muttered something under his breath. Straightening, he fixed the other nation with a steady stare, one clearly meant to intimidate. Russia just smiled wider.

"An interesting proposition, Russia," the island nation said, sipping his tea, "But there is something important your document fails to mention. You see, we European countries are rather…occupied, at the moment. King Charles of Spain has died, unfortunately, and it seems he lacks a proper heir. The result? Competition. An ungodly amount."

Green eyes gleamed as they looked on his face. "Why, pray tell, should I divert my attention from such an important matter for _you? _Why should I fight a war I have nothing to do with?" Ivan's smile was strained now. Only the king's words kept him from glaring at the little man.

England ignored his guest's rising irritation and leaned forward. "What I'm trying to say, Russia, is _what's in it for me?"_

_**Pirate, **_Ivan thought to himself, watching the slow smirk that twisted the corners of the other man's lips. _He is as they say he is._

Smiling with fake patience, Russia replied in the high, childish voice that would later strike fear in many hearts, "Ah, but England. I am but a messenger. If it is payment you wish to discuss, my king is the one to talk to, not me. I merely offered the proposal."

His smile grew a little less false when England's eye twitched at his words. The two stared at each other. After a moment, Russia chirped, "Oh, did you read the other parchment? The one where I'm to stay with you –"

"Yes," England said irritably, his face darkening with dismay. "I admit, that was an unexpected tidbit of information. I was not told you would be staying the _week –" _the island nation's voice broke a little, "-here."

At that moment, it was hard not to grin. "Your leader didn't tell you?" Russia asked innocently. "How odd. King Peter tells me _everything." _England scowled. "Does he?"

"Da! You see, during my time here, you and I are supposed to become best friends!" The smaller nation looked ready to gag. His voice was unconvincingly sweet when he replied, "Ah, well, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about in that regard. But, all that aside –"

_Creeeaaak._

England froze, his eyes widening in surprise and dismay as they fixed on a point somewhere behind his guest. Ivan turned in time to see a yellow-brown blur disappear from behind the cracked door. The distinct sound of clumsy, hurried footsteps followed, and after that a loud smashing sound. Ivan watched interestedly as a middle-aged woman scurried into the room, struggling to catch her breath as she curtsied. "My-my lord," she wheezed, waving her plump arms frantically, "The boy-!" Britain held up a gloved hand for silence, kneading his temples with the other. "I don't even want to know," he muttered through his teeth, green eyes burning. The woman cowered under his gaze, and she looked ready to reply when she noticed Ivan, who stared curiously back. The woman looked back and forth between the two and paled.

"Oh," she said very quietly, "I…I didn't mean to interrupt, my lord..."

England's eyes narrowed. Russia was beginning to understand why so many of the other nations feared him. Where he had been a sour, somewhat arrogant little man minutes before, now he was the empire the bigger nation had heard so much about. Ivan watched, intrigued.

"Yes, I'm sure you didn't," he hissed, "Nonetheless, I expect your things to be cleared from my house by sunset."

The woman's eyes widened. "My lord –"

"If not, I'll be sure to have them thrown in the nearest body of water. Am I understood?"

The woman looked ready to protest, but nodded her compliance when an icy glare was thrown at her. "Yes, my lord." "Good, now get out. And clean up whatever it is the boy broke."

The door creaked shut as the plump woman left. England's shoulders slumped. Sighing heavily, he stood. "That blasted boy…I told him…"

He looked up at Russia, as though he had forgotten he was there. There was an awkward silence, in which the island nation rubbed wearily at his eyes. "Oh, this is horribly rude. I ask your forgiveness, Russia, but I've an important matter to attend to. If you'd excuse me, I'll return shortly…"

Ivan nodded. "Yes, of course." England moved hurriedly around his desk, muttering irritably to himself –something about hard-headed children and useless nannies - as he went. His boots clicked softly against the floor, and in a matter of moments he was gone.

Russia stared at the place he'd disappeared, still surprised from the ruthless display he'd just seen. _If that is what Britain is truly like, perhaps it _would_ be good to have him on our side._

After a few minutes, when England had still not returned, Russia began to grow bored. He played with the ends of his scarf for a while, glancing disinterestedly at the rows of books on the mahogany shelves. Then that got boring, so he turned his attention to the many paintings in the room. They were all very nicely done, but equally boring, and after checking to see that England had still not returned, Russia stood. His mind wandered as he opened the heavy door and stepped from the study. The child mainly took hold of his thoughts. He was sure now that the blur he'd seen earlier _was _the child. And apparently he (Russia was sure it was a 'he' now) had escaped his nanny, who was supposed to have been watching him if England's reaction was any indication.

Whistling to himself, Ivan roamed the halls, absently noting the absence of the expensive-looking vase he'd passed earlier. Perhaps that was what had been broken. It crossed his mind once or twice that England would probably consider it rude he was wandering his house without permission, but Russia found he didn't really care. The man made him wary, yes, but his interest in seeing the child up close was far greater.

_Such lovely eyes…_

Ivan had just passed the entrance to what looked like a garden when he heard a soft step behind him. Turning slightly, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Standing behind him, a little ways away, was a child. _The_ child. Russia eyed the soft gold of his hair, the tanned skin, the bright, sky blue eyes – and thought he was perhaps the most beautiful child he had ever seen. Those eyes (even prettier up close!) blinked slowly up at him, just as awed as he was, but for a different reason. There was silence, in which Russia could do nothing but stare. The boy's lips stretched in a small, angelic smile. "Wow!" he chirped, skipping up to the other's side, blue eyes round with wonder. "You're really, really, _big_! Like, bigger than England!"

Strands of blonde hair fell away from his eyes and framed his face as he craned his neck, sticking one small hand out for him to shake. "I'm America, but you can call me Alfred! Arthur calls me Alfred."

_America?_

He bounced excitedly on his heels as Russia slowly, hesitantly took hold of the little hand, marveling at how big his own hand was compared to the little angel's. "Alfred," he said softly, watching the boy beam in response. "Yup! You say it kinda funny, though." He paused. "What's your name?"

Ivan was silent, too mesmerized to really hear the question. It was only when the boy –_Alfred-_repeated himself that he thought to answer. "My name?" Alfred nodded. "I…I am Russia," at the angel's curious look he added, "but you may call me Ivan."

"Ivan?" he laughed, "That's a silly name!"

A part of Russia thought he should perhaps have been offended at the reaction to his name, but Alfred's laugh had wormed an unfamiliar warmth into his heart. "Hey, Mr. Ivan," the boy said, his voice lowering as he looked over his shoulder. Leaning on his tippy-toes, he said, "You're a country, like Arth-England, right?" At Ivan's nod, a grin stretched across his face. "Really? I knew it!" He stopped abruptly, glancing around again. "Arth…England's looking for me. I…kinda did something bad." His eyes locked with Russia's. "You won't make me go to him, will you?"

At that moment, Alfred could've asked him to murder someone and he'd have seriously considered doing it. Russia nodded once. The little angel beamed. "Great! C'mon, let's go outside!"

The pale-haired nation followed dumbly as the little boy tugged at his arm. He opened the glass door Ivan had passed earlier and stepped into the sun, hair shining in the light. Russia stepped after him, wincing as a wave of heat assaulted him. He'd forgotten how hot it was in this strange, strange land. The garden was wide and circular, with a plethora of flowers, from tulips to daisies to red, red roses scattered everywhere. Trees swayed lazily with the occasional breeze, and provided a welcome shield while Alfred tugged him towards a wooden bench at the far corner of the gardens.

"Whew!" he said, plopping next to a fiercely sweating Ivan. "It's pretty hot today!" He frowned. "How come you're wearing all that stuff? Aren't you hot?" Alfred fanned at his face, not waiting for a reply. "_I'm _hot."

Russia was silent. He had never been one for words, and was content to simply stare at the little one next to him. _Besides_, he thought amusedly, _he does enough talking for both of us._

After a brief silence, they both cooled off somewhat in the shade of the trees. "So!" Alfred said suddenly, twisting his little body around, "What's it like?"

Ivan blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Alfred moved his hands impatiently. "You know, being a real nation!"

Ivan blinked again, surprised and a little confused at the question. He thought for a moment. "I…well. It is…" He trailed off as Alfred leaned closer, eyes wide. Tilting his head, Russia tried to think of the best answer. "It's…different, I suppose."

"How?

"Well…" He thought back to days long past. "It is scary, at first. To know you are on your own for the first time ever. People fight over you a lot - some of them tell you to do or say things you don't want to do…It's hard at first, and very confusing…"

Russia doesn't notice Alfred's face fall at his words.

"There are bad times, lots of them, but there are good things, too." He smiled. "My people, for instance. I love them very much, even if they don't love me. It is…indescribable, the feeling I get when I see my brethren happy…But then, I suppose that's what every country wants most in the end. Their people's happiness…"

Russia turned to see America staring thoughtfully at his knees, blue eyes soft. The sun made his hair shine like gold, and Ivan wished he were an artist, that he might capture the moment. When Alfred spoke, his voice was quiet. Tentative. Fiddling with his fingers he said, almost to himself, "But…what if you're not a country?" Ivan's brows furrowed, confused.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred looked up and said, louder this time, "What if you're not a country? What if you're a colony, like me? "He looked down at his hands. "I love my people, too. But…I'm not like you, or England. I'm not a country. Maybe if I was, my love would mean more…"

Ivan laughed lightly. "What a silly idea. " He looked at Alfred. "It does not matter what you are – colony, country, or territory. Being either does not make what you feel any better or worse than the other. To think such is, as I said, silly." Smiling truly for the first time in a long time, he touched Alfred's head, enjoying the feathery softness of his hair. "You should not trouble yourself with such things, Alfred. "

America relaxed against the bench, swinging his legs lazily. The troubled expression was replaced with a smile. "Yeah, you're right! Sorry I got all mopey on ya there, a second ago…It's just, I've never really met any other country besides England. Well, there was France, but…" Shaking his head, he turned a bright expression on Ivan. "Anyways, thank you, for making me feel better."

_Ah, but to see that smile…_

"You are welcome, friend."

~#~#~#~#~#~#

They talked until the sun went down, about all sorts of things; Ivan's home, Ivan himself, America, the sky, various pranks Alfred had pulled, how many nannies those same pranks had gotten fired, and his numerous misadventures, many of which involved making Arthur furious. Ivan found himself laughing along with Alfred as he recounted some of them, particularly one in which the colony had let a stray dog into the large house while Arthur was sleeping. Apparently Alfred fed it some bad food while it was there – Arthur had woken up, and, too tired to notice, stepped in a pile of one of the dog's various 'gifts' it had left around the house.

"I swear," Alfred laughed, "he screamed so loud people three towns away could hear him!" Ivan allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "It sounds like you were quite the little troublemaker…"

Alfred beamed. "Sure was! That whole poop thing was an accident, though. Really! I mean, England was still pretty mad. He grounded me for a whole week!"

"Did he?"

"Yup! It was _torture…"_ He groaned at the memory. "The only thing I was allowed to do was read. Who _reads?" _

Russia hummed softly. "Many great people remembered throughout history have been avid readers. You don't read, Alfred?"

The boy frowned. "Sometimes. But only when Arthur reads with me. It's a lot harder otherwise…"

It was Russia's turn to frown. "That will not do, Alfred. Reading is the key to knowledge. And knowledge," Ivan leaned close to the blonde little boy, as though he were about to share a secret, "is the key to power."

Alfred thought about that. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But, but it's not the only key!"

"Oh really?"

America adopted a fierce expression, lifting his arm and grabbing the bicep. "Power's also the key to power, and one day I'm gonna be the most powerfulest nation in the entire _world!""_

Ivan laughed.

Alfred pouted as the noise rang across the gardens, his little arms crossing as a gloved hand patted his head. "Don't laugh at me! It's true!"

Russia kneeled until he was at eye-level with the angry blonde, his laughter fading to a wide smile. "I was not laughing at you, Alfred," he said, violet eyes shining, "Your determination is very inspiring. I believe one day your wish might come true-"

"Ahem."

Both Ivan and Alfred started at the sound of the polite cough.

England was watching them from a few feet away, his posture very stiff. His eyes were locked on America's face, and Russia had a feeling that the anger in his eyes was not caused by the boy having eluded him all day. Those eyes slowly slid from a silent Alfred to Russia himself. A chill went down his spine. Britain the Empire was standing before him, trying and failing to suppress an icy glare as he looked at the bigger man.

_If looks could kill…_

Ivan stood and stepped, very slowly, away from America, his gaze never leaving England's. Those green eyes were burning, trying to tell him something, something he knew he wouldn't like, and he remained silent as America spoke. Kicking at the dirt he said quietly, "Sorry, Arthur…for…you know. Breaking that vase you liked so much. And the teapot. And that sculpture-thing…" He bit his lip. "And…you know, hiding from you. But don't get mad at Ivan! I totally talked him into it, honest! I-"

"America." England's voice held a forced calm."Come here."

Staring at his feet, Alfred muttered, "Yes, sir." Glancing back one last time at Ivan, he trudged towards the island nation, who had turned his gaze back to Russia.

"You are grounded," he said lowly, without looking at him, "for the rest of the week. " Alfred tensed, as though he were about to protest, but seemed to think better of it and instead said again, "Yes, sir."

"Good lad," England murmured, one hand reaching down to touch the other's cheek. "Now come, supper's waiting in your room, and I'll have to find a new nanny for you…" England straightened.

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, the island nation turned back to Ivan, who stiffened at the look in the other man's eyes. Again, they were trying to tell him something…

"Mr. Braginski, I thank you for keeping my Alfred company today, but you'll have to excuse us. A servant will arrive shortly to show you to your rooms. You may join me for dinner afterwards, if you'd like. Until then, goodbye."

They turned and walked away, England's steps brisk, Alfred's shoulders slumped. Russia felt his fists clench. He was angry, but he wasn't sure why.

And then he saw it.

Arthur's hand reached down to rest on Alfred's shoulder, and there was something about the way he did it Russia found he didn't like. As if sensing his thoughts, England looked back over his shoulder, those eyes flashing again with a message. A smirk curled his lips.

Ivan's eyes widened, then narrowed. He grit his teeth. The pair disappeared inside the house, but Ivan stood there, his thoughts filled with burning green that screamed a word that made his blood boil.

_**Mine.**_

Message received.


	2. A Sudden Longing

**A/N: To anyone still reading - I'm so sorry. After months of losing interest in fanfiction, I finally came back to update my stories, only to realize I had completely forgotten my password. After days of endless cursing and frustration, I finally managed to get back in my account, and now you have the chapter before you. I hope it was worth the wait - and thanks so much for your reviews! They helped me as I was writing this, and they always make me happy. Enjoy!**

_Chapter 2: Lightning Bugs _

Ivan lay beneath the soft sheets of the bed, his eyes focused on the ceiling as his mind raged. It had been four days since he'd come to stay at England's house - four days since the empire had led little Alfred away, green eyes burning. Just the memory of it made the Russian's blood boil, and he flung the fine sheets away from him as he sat up and stood from the bed.

Since then, the bushy-browed nation had been even colder than before, taking special care to keep the boy away from him during days and even dinnertime, with the excuse that Alfred was 'not to be trusted around strangers.' He bristled at the thought.

No, Ivan knew the real reason behind England's behavior. He clenched his fists. Despite the boy's bright nature and wishful dreams, Alfred was, in the end, a colony. A colony who happened to belong to the most powerful country in the world. While he had none of his own, Ivan had heard of how protective some countries were when it came to their colonies, and clearly England was not an exception. Still...

This did not explain the _possessiveness _the shorter man had displayed when he grasped America's shoulder, nor the look he'd given Russia as they turned to walk away - the message in his eyes...

It made Ivan angry, so he chose not to think about it.

_Perhaps a walk will clear my head._

Moonlight flooded into the sparsely furnished room from the window to his right, casting a soft glow on his skin as he shrugged on a robe and slipped into his boots. Briefly, he glanced out into the night, marveling at the rolling hills and glowing moon - brilliant against the cloudless sky. _A beautiful land._ His thoughts strayed unwillingly back to the little golden child, with his sun-touched hair and wide blue eyes...Ivan rested his hand on the glass doorknob, his eyes closed as an unfamiliar warmth filled his chest.

_Alfred. _

The corners of his lips twitched upwards as he stepped into the silent hallway, dimly lit and empty of anyone that he could see. His boots were slightly muddy from his previous midnight walks, and he made sure to scrape his heels against the nice wood floors as he headed toward the gardens.

He wasn't sure if England knew of his late- night habits, and didn't really care if he did. Ivan was a guest - if he wanted to wander around at night, he would, and the island nation could not say a word so long as he didn't disturb anything. _English hospitality_, he thought with a smile, imagining the empire's face when he saw all the mud in the morning.

The king would not approve of such imaturity, he knew, and under normal circumstances, Ivan would be just as perturbed at his own actions. Outside of world meetings, this visit was the first time he'd ever really dealt with the British empire, and under such important circumstances, no less. It was vital that he made a good impression - if he could just get England on his side, the war with the Ottomans would be that much easier. After all, the island nation was a thing to be reckoned with when among his fellow countries - cold and concise, few dared to speak against him. _A formiddable man_, had been Russia's first impression. But now...

It was clear the island nation had a different side.

He had witnessed it first-hand two nights ago, when he was wandering the house. Ivan had purposefully passed Alfred's room, hoping to get a glimpse of the colony, when he heard England's voice, nearly unrecognizable in its softness. He had paused, intrigued, and carefully moved to the crack in the door, where he saw a most interesting sight.

The British Empire sat on a plush little bed, holding a book and surrounded by stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes. His head was lowered, chin resting on the top of a little blonde head -Ivan realized it was Alfred, settled in his lap with an old rabbit in his arms. Neither had noticed him watching, mystified, as England continued to read, Alfred's voice occasionally joining his, though he stumbled over some of the words. The island nation's posture had been relaxed, his eyes soft as they traveled the width of the book, and Ivan had realized he was looking at Arthur Kirkland, reading a book to his brother.

He had backed away slowly, then, his mind reeling, and though he still did not like England, for various reasons, he was forced to acknowledge that the shorter man had another side. _At least when it comes to his colonies._

Russia frowned. Hidden depths aside -with the island nation's perpetual scowl and shrewd eyes, he did not deserve to be around someone like Alfred, and the fact he had been keeping the little one from him intensified Ivan's dislike.

_But, _he thought, stepping into the cool night air. _Alfred does not belong to me. I am here for a _reason...

_**"Do not return until you've a promise of alliance in your hand."**_

His leader's soft voice rumbled in his head, and his mouth tightened as he walked among the flowers. The czar was not one to be crossed -Ivan had seen that firsthand - and he had no desire to face his leader's wrath. England, however, was proving difficult - the czar had hoped a week of company might warm the island nation to him, but Ivan saw now that this was impossible. He did not like England, and he was almost certain England did not like him, though the man was good at hiding it. Tension was present every time they talked, and it affected things -mainly the alliance he had come here for. For the past four days they had sat in the island nation's office, debating and discussing the pros and cons of Britain's assistance, though Ivan knew they weren't getting anywhere.

He would likely leave empty-handed...

Sighing softly, Russia ran a large hand through his hair, plopping ungracefully onto the sturdy wood bench he and Alfred had shared a few days ago. The boy's image conjured little warmth this time - he was in trouble, and he knew it.

Why had the czar thought sending him a good idea? Because he and England were both countries? _A foolish thought. _Ivan, despite his natural ability to intimidate, was not skilled in the ways of social interaction, especially when it came to his fellow personifications. He was usually avoided at world meetings, even by the less important countries, and he often found himself alone at the end of the long meeting table, struggling to understand what the others up front were saying. It made him dread such gatherings...

Things were not so much better at home. Though he enjoyed walking among his people and looking into their lives, the czar preferred that he stay in the palace, where he could be monitored at all times.

"You are Russia," his ruler would say, "And I am the czar. It is my duty to keep you safe."

And so he spent his days wandering the palace - and some nights, too, when he couldn't avoid the nightmares. _For the best_, he'd tell himself, but there were days when he grew tired of walking the same halls, watching the same servants do their best to avoid him, and ignoring the stares of the guards assigned to _stalk _him.

He was an anomaly, to them; a giant of a man who lived in the czar's palace for no apparent reason, a man who stayed young when all the rest grew weak and old. Whispers, whispers - they followed him everywhere, along with the expectation of _absolute obedience. _

It was tiring.

Could he be blamed, if he was curious about a child who didn't fear him, or look at him with darkness in their gaze? Could he be blamed for wanting nothing more than to run his fingers through sun-blonde hair -to hear laughter, _real laughter,_ as he looked into the eyes of one who did not know pain, as he did? Could he be blamed if, _for once_, he wanted to hold a little body to his chest, and be _**warm **_instead of cold?

Ivan realized the foolishness of these longings. He was a country, and he had duties to fulfill, not wishes. He was being selfish, occupying himself with thoughts of a boy he had met only once- and a colony, no less -instead of the task he had been assigned by his ruler.

He sighed, and was suddenly roused from his musings at the sight of an insect flying lazily by. Resting his hand on his chin, he stared at it, briefly considering catching it and crushing it between his fingers. One thing he did not like about America was the abundance of insects - they assaulted him in the heat and would not go away, no matter how many he swatted. It was aggravating, and with revenge in his mind he raised his hand, thick fingers closing around the little bug like a cage -

And then it glowed.

Ivan jumped back, startled, as the insect lit up with a soft, yellow glow. It continued to fly lazily around, sometimes landing on a flower or two, and slowly, carefully, Ivan stood and walked over to the nearby rose it occupied, his eyes wide with childlike fascination. Crouching, he reached out to catch it again, when a soft, sleepy voice reached his ears.

"What're you doing, Ivan?"

Ivan turned and stilled at the sight of Alfred standing quietly nearby, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He wore a thin white sleeping robe, his blonde hair heavily mussed, and clutched in one hand was the same stuffed rabbit, patched and tattered with age.

Ivan's mouth opened and closed. He was still rather confused with the thoughts the boy provoked in him, and he was not sure what to say. "I..."

A cool breeze tickled the Russian, then, and he remembered it was midnight. What was the colony doing up?

"I heard your footsteps," Alfred said, as though reading his thoughts. He stepped closer -Ivan saw his feet were bare- and his eyes widened in childish delight.

"A lightning bug!"

He ran up to Ivan's side and leaned forward, so close that the Russian could smell the soap on his skin, and the strange warmth erupted within him. "Lightning...bug?" he echoed, breathless with the colony's presence. Alfred looked at him and beamed, now fully awake.

"Yeah!" he said loudly. "Haven't you seen one before? They're beautiful, aren't they? England calls them 'fireflies,' but that's stupid. _I_ call them lightning bugs." He gently lifted the insect onto his palm, studying it as though it were a rare jewel.

"It is... pretty," Ivan agreed, eying the bug with curious eyes. Alfred smiled at him, and the Russian looked back as he continued, "These...'lightning bugs' are not common in my land. I do not recall ever seeing one before."

Alfred looked shocked. "What? _Never?" _He frowned. "Lightning bugs are one of the best parts of summer!"

Ivan's smile was almost sad. "It is always winter where I come from, little one."

"Oh," Alfred looked more closely at him. "Is that why you're always wearing those weird clothes? And that scarf?" He gave a gentle tug on the pale item around the Russian's neck, and Ivan was surprised to find he didn't mind, that the colony had touched the precious gift.

"It's soft," he said, smiling, and the Russian stilled with surprise as the little one took his hand and began pulling him toward the bench. Ivan allowed him to, marveling at the rare contact with a living, breathing creature. Alfred sat him down and, without a word, crawled into his lap, ignoring the elder's shocked expression as he sat with his back to the country's chest, his head tilted slightly. Ivan hardly dared to breathe, afraid that if he moved, he would find this had all been a dream.

"Look," Alfred's voice was soft with wonder. "There's more of them."

Confused, he looked up, and his eyes widened with awe. There were lightning bugs everywhere, dozens of them filling the gardens and casting their soft, flickering glow upon the flowers and the grass, like tiny lights. They hummed softly as they flew, and Ivan watched them go about in mystified silence, his arms wrapping around the colony as he unconsciously pulled the little one closer.

He was warm, and Ivan rested his chin atop the boy's head as England had done, closing his eyes. His sigh was now one of contentment. He could've stayed like this forever...

_And why not? _

"Sometimes I wish I could be a lightning bug," Alfred whispered suddenly.

Ivan looked down at him with confusion. "You want to be an insect?"

The colony nodded once. Leaning back against the bench, the Russian said, "Ah, but little one, I do not think these lightning bugs live very long...they cannot walk or talk-"

"But they can _fly_," Alfred retorted, and Ivan paused. "You're right. They don't live very long, but...but they can go wherever they want to before they die, and they _glow_, and they have lots of other lightning bugs to talk to..." Alfred quieted. Ivan suddenly got the feeling they weren't talking about insects anymore.

"What do you mean?" he said softly, and the boy tilted his head back to give the young man a considering look. Their eyes met, and Ivan saw something he hadn't noticed before, drowned in the boy's usual brightness. It was familiar, and his eyes widened as Alfred turned to look back at the lightning bugs. The question tumbled from his mouth, loud in the midnight's silence.

"Are you lonely, Alfred?"

He knew it was a stupid thing to ask the moment his lips formed the words. Someone like Alfred could never be lonely. He was too happy, too bright. He was the type of person who drew people to him -

"Yeah." The colony was staring ahead, absently tugging on the end of a stunned Ivan's scarf. "I think...I think I am."

The Russian opened his mouth to say something, but Alfred wasn't finished. "I-I mean, I love this place. I'm happy here. But, sometimes..."

The fingers pulled more harshly on his scarf, and Ivan might've pried them away were he not hanging on the boy's every word. "Sometimes...I get sad. Arthur goes away a lot, and I know he has more important stuff to do, but...There's no one else to talk to. We live pretty far from the nearest town, and I'm not allowed to go out on my own, even though I'm almost two-hundred years _old..._"

"Don't the nannies keep you company?" Ivan asked hushedly.

Alfred made a face.

"_No. _Arthur always chooses the old, boring ones, and they're all proper and stuff. I hate them."

"Do you?" he murmured, mystified at the boy's sudden change in demeanor. He sounded resentful, and Ivan, fascinated, wanted him to continue. Running a hand through the colony's honeyed locks, he whispered, "And what about England?"

Alfred frowned. "What about him?"

"You have nothing to say about him?

Alfred seemed uncertain. "Well...no. I mean, he does get on my nerves sometimes...but Arthur's my big brother, and I love him more than anyone else in the world."

Ivan felt as though he'd been stabbed.

His eyes narrowed, and his arms tightened around the colony as his face twisted. Something fierce and ugly rose within him, then, and through the sudden haze he wondered what was wrong with him.

Alfred looked back. "Ivan?"

Of course. Of course _Arthur_ would be the boy's most precious person. The island nation had raised him, and was likely the only thing he knew. It was to be expected - so why...?

_Why do I feel this darkness?_

"Oh...but little one," something else said in his voice. "Surely _Arthur _is not perfect? Surely he has done something in the past to hurt you?"

Alfred seemed uncertain. "Huh? I..."

"It's alright," he heard himself saying, and it unnerved him to think that the words coming from his mouth were not coming from _him_. "We are friends, and friends tell each other these things."

"They do?"

"Yes." Ivan didn't know, but it sounded right to him.

"You won't tell Arthur?"

"I would never."

Alfred leaned back in the Russian's embrace, his brows furrowed.

"Well...he's really stuffy, for one, but you already know that. He always gets really sensitive whenever I bring up his eyebrows, even though I think they're nice. Weird, but nice. Oh, and he can't cook at all!" Alfred giggled. "But he thinks he can."

"And what about when he goes away?" Ivan pushed, his eyes focused on the boy. Alfred paused in his laughter.

"I...I get sad when he goes away, I guess. Sometimes he's gone for a really long time. And then there are times when he comes back and takes me with him to Europe, to those meeting things." The colony lowered his eyes. "I hate those things."

Ivan nodded in agreement. "Yes, I do too."

"Arthur...he always _changes_, whenever we go to Europe. He's really mean - he won't read me stories or give me hugs, and when I ask him why, he'll get mad, saying stuff like, 'I have an image to uphold!'" Alfred huffed. "_So?_ Who cares what anyone thinks? You don't have to scare everybody just to prove you're powerful! That's dumb!"

Ivan hummed in agreement, his placid expression at odds with the delight he felt as the colony's voice steadily rose in volume.

"And what's worse, he actually makes me _go_ to those stupid meetings, even though I'm never allowed to do anything except stand there beside him like some trophy or something. I can't even talk! Do you know how hard it is to sit next to Italy and not talk? Well, it's really, really hard!"

From what he had seen of the auburn-haired man, Ivan supposed it was. In his lap, Alfred quieted.

"I love Arthur," he said softly. "And he loves me. Of course he does..."

"But?" The Russian prompted.

"I...I'm not just some object to him - right?"

He looked up at Ivan, then, and his eyes were wide and pleading, so different from the hyperactive little boy he'd seen four days ago. Could it have been the night that exposed him now, or did the colony trust the country to see him as he was? Ivan wanted it to be the latter, so very much, and even though the ugly thing inside of him told him to say other things-_you're nothing to him, a trophy, he doesn't love you -_he said, very softly,

"Yes. Arthur loves you very much."

It was the truth, from what Russia had seen. And though he felt cold again inside, as the little boy beamed, Ivan decided it was worth it.

"Thank you," his precious one murmured, snuggling closer. Yawning, he took the Russian's hand and said, "I'm glad we're friends, Ivan."

And Russia smiled down at America, though his eyes were sad. Running his fingers through soft blonde locks, he sighed at the familiar pain of wanting something he'd never have. But he supposed he had one thing, now. _A friend._

_Yes_, he thought, looking up at the lightning bugs. _Alfred is my friend_. But inside, Ivan knew the boy was more than that. He was precious, and Ivan would do anything for him...even if it meant hurting others. Even if it meant his own pain.

_Ah, but to see that smile..._

**_A/N: Well, it's not my best work, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer. I know Ivan's instant attachment to Alfred seems weird, but I'll explain this little by little as the story goes on. _**

**_Thank you for reading - I appreciate it!_**


End file.
